


Indulgence

by aronnaxs



Series: Hobbit Kink Meme Prompt Fills [7]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Community: hobbit_kink, M/M, Masturbation, Sex Toys, Voyeurism, it's stressful being an elven king
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2018-01-21 21:16:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1564388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aronnaxs/pseuds/aronnaxs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fill for Hobbit Kink Meme prompt: Thranduil likes nothing better after a long, stressful day than to retire to his chambers and relieve his pent up tension in rather intimate ways. One night, he attains an entranced visitor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Indulgence

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [【Translation】Indulgence](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2754581) by [suirin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/suirin/pseuds/suirin)



> This was a fill which was asked for the kink meme a while ago and I really wanted to write some pure smut recently - the prompt was perfect for it.... So here some Thranduil relieving his stress with a rather engrossed visitor.
> 
> Link to kink meme prompt and fill: http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/10731.html?thread=22086891#t23429355

After a whole day of bearing it, the crown feels too heavy upon his head. His robes stifle him. His mind is rotten with the monotonous words of his advisors, the skewed letterings on paperwork. He is lethargic, deprived of luxury, craving freedom from the dusty rooms and the wicked cycles of tedious strategy and administration. The only thing that keeps him moving is the thought of the golden light of his chambers, the soft scent of perfumed air, the sensation of cool sheets at his back, and not hard wood. The rewards reaped from the trials of the court.

When he enters the haven away from more torment, he sighs - long, slow, deep. He shuts the door, abandoning his responsibilities and pushing them from his shoulders along with the tightness of his ceremonial robes. They pool delightedly around his feet which are soon also stripped of his boots then touched by his silken leggings as they slip onto the floor. He longs for the crown to follow them but it is instead placed in a show of care upon the bedside table. Even then it is still in reaching distance.

He still turns from it for now, though, arching elegantly. The natural liberality of being nude has always appealed to him. It is refreshing, pleasant, freeing. He finds he is already smiling again.

Inside, however, pent-up tension from the lengthy, dull day still lurks. No matter how many layers he strips off, no matter how often he stretches his aching back, it will not fade without some stronger medicine. He knows what he wants. His whole being heats up to think of it.

Connecting with his bed chamber are other vast rooms for his fineries and personal possessions. It is to the first one that he now enters, heading to a secret large box hidden amongst the wardrobes, away from prying, over-inquisitive eyes. There is no key on this box for when he needs it, he needs it badly; he has no time or patience to search for unnecessary locks.

Within it, he finds what his body is demanding. Nestled amongst gorgeous red silk is a lurid collection of very intimate items for pleasure. Over time, they have been shaped especially for him, clandestine treasures offered with the bulk of other exchanges with allying kingdoms. None know about it but him and the creators, a selection of talented elves, men and even dwarves. Thranduil thinks nothing signifies a good alliance more than a satisfying gift for him to use in the privacy of his own quarters.

He trembles finely as he looks upon them again. It has been long since he has indulged in such decadence - maybe this is why he is so taut with stress. Oh Valar, he can hardly wait to have one of these inside of him.

They are all expertly crafted, centuries of friendships - some now broken - lying before him. His favourite, though, is one from relatively recently in his eternal years, from a place within a few days' march of his own realm, and to where the dwarves in his dungeons still crave to go. Erebor. They may be stubborn, deplorable creatures with no manners but oh, their carving skills can be little matched. Thranduil shakes slightly as he picks up the thick shaft, feeling the weight and girth of it in his hands and wondering briefly if the artist of this magnificent piece had a model to work from. His cheeks flush to think of it.

But surely, not all the details could be correct. For, engraved down the sides of this instrument are a number of colourful, beautiful gems, small raised areas along the surface which makes the penetration so much more exquisite. Usually Thranduil would heartily admire such dazzling jewels but right now, he needs to allay his cravings, to make himself delirious and unable to think of the pressure of his responsibilities.

He closes the box with a bang, taking his prize with him back to his bedroom. Eagerly, he lays himself down upon the sheets, relishing their comforting softness. He stretches again, humming in pleasure. Oh Valar, this will be so good...

Hastily spreading his legs, and knowing he must make for a most decadent sight, he reaches out and obtains the sweet-smelling oil from the nearby cabinet. A good deal is spilt over his fingers and he wastes no time in rubbing it down between his thighs, teasing the cleft hidden from him and searching for the taut entrance. He can only brush against it, such is the awkwardness of the angle. It frustrates him, even more so than he already is.

Quickly, he turns onto his side instead, bringing one leg up so he is sufficiently opened. Oh gods, he thinks with a tremble, he loves being this exposed. And from this position, he can apply sweet pressure to his already aching arousal without having to relinquish the use of his hands; his legs twitch and squeeze, rubbing the hard flesh against them and the bed. His heart beats headily in his ears, which are no doubt are flushed and red, evidence of his excitement. As if he requires anymore.

He cannot remember the last time he was this needy. Of course, he has spent much time in court before, often being too focused on his work to allow himself time alone, but usually, he has more self-control. Maybe it is these dwarves in his dungeon. They have wound him up more than he generally is, tightening him until he craves relief.

He erases them from his mind as he begins to finger himself, concentrating on the slick, curling movements in his entrance and the twisting motion of his wrist. A shuddering sigh escapes him, lips pressed to the heat of the pillow, chest and abdomen fluttering with the muscles shifting beneath them. He places his free hand on the supple skin there, drawing small circles, not quite touching his cock. His other hand continues to please him, a long digit shifting, reaching, stroking the inner walls.

Soon, he is able to insert another, his hole greedily taking it in. He tries to keep his reactions in check but oh, the thought of what next will be filling him causes him to whine softly. It makes him work quicker, a third finger entering, scissoring apart, opening him. Valar, it's so good to be touched like this. His arousal begs to be given attention but he ignores it for now, unable to focus on anything but the deep penetration, getting closer and closer to locating the spot inside of him that will make him shudder and moan.

He finds it with a loud cry. His other fist tightly grips his flesh, making obvious scratches, marking him, yet he couldn't care less. He rubs the gland again and again, delighting in the way his channel clenches about him, legs spasm, teeth sink into his bottom lip. By the gods, anyone who saw him would think he was a simple whore, not a stoic king, by the way he is acting. Many millennia have passed before his eyes yet he feels like he will come undone by these simple caresses.

Catching his breath again, he slowly removes his fingers, deeming himself successfully prepared. Gently, he moves again onto his back, splaying his legs, as if offering himself to a lover. Some vain part lying inside of him wishes to get a mirror inserted in his chambers opposite his bed, just so he can see what others see when he allows them to fuck him. He is no stranger to his beauty, he thinks, absent-mindedly massaging the crease of his thighs. Many would love to witness him like this.

Shuddering in heated anticipation, he reaches over and grasps the thick, bejewelled shaft in his hand. More oil is spread along it, enough for its girth to slip easier into him. As he angles it against his quivering entrance, he feels the cool slickness against his flesh and his breathing quickens until he is dizzy. He does not care about anything else but the sensation, though; he has always been a selfish lover, putting his desires and needs above the other (yet he thinks the honour of fucking a king is pleasure enough), and now, he thinks only of the ecstasy he is about to feel.

A loud gasp spills from him as he is first penetrated by the object. He knows what he is capable of, knows how he likes it, but oh, he is so tight that evening. It hurts a little but it is worth it, an intimate aching that elven bodies can more than handle. He widens his thighs determinedly, giving himself a little more time to adjust before pushing harder. The bumped jewels rub maddeningly against his channel and he cries out. His toes curl and shift against the covers, whole body writhing slightly to fit in the length of the cock.

Thankfully, it does not take him long to become accustomed to it; after all, it is nowhere near his first time. For a few moments, he rests with the shaft sitting inside of him, calming his rapid heart beat before the assault, bending up his knees to shamelessly spread himself further.

At the first full thrust into his entrance, his mouth falls agape. The object relentlessly opens his passage, continuing where his fingers left off, and Valar, it's so good. He bites his lip as he starts the pace slowly, trying to restrain himself for a little while longer, allowing the cock to drag across his sensitive walls. The raised parts of it make the experience so much more delightful and he finds he is squirming on it to feel them pull at him again and again. He moans, already shivering even more. Yes, the dwarves may tug on all of his threads of patience but their carving skills... Oh, they drive him crazy in a very different way.

To his prediction, he is not able to maintain the leisurely speed for very long. Looking downwards and watching how his hips flex and roll rhythmically, his arousal bouncing against his abdomen, he drives the shaft faster into himself, brows furrowing at the immediate satisfaction it produces. Gods, he is so eager that night. He usually prides himself on how long it takes for his partners to bring him to orgasm but now, he is unsure if he can last any more than a virgin could.

Arching his back off the bed and closing his eyes to the pleasure, he pulls at the cock so only the head is inside him and then pushes it straight within again. " Ahh!" he shouts aloud now, legs clenching, head falling against the pillow. His erection pulses against his stomach and he cannot help reaching for it with his free hand, needing to touch himself so badly. But he deters from it, challenging himself to come just on the shaft, without a single stroke of his own member. He will do that later on.

Before he knows it, he has set up a mind-numbing rhythm, in and out, in and out, in and out until his wrist is aching. He trembles, bearing his body downwards to meet the hard thrusts, the taut flesh of his thighs spasming, ears twitching behind his dishevelled hair. He imagines what he must look like and insists again on getting a mirror fitted. To watch as he takes it, to watch as he is ravished, to watch as he comes apart, would be exquisite...

But then, suddenly, amongst his soft moans and the sound of the bed creaking under his fucking, he becomes aware of another noise, quiet but certainly there. He slows his pace a little, unable to stop yet curious about his surroundings. Yes, he thinks, there is definitely another sound in the room, somewhere between all the thick pillars and arches. Breathing. There is someone else breathing in here - heavily, quickly... Oh gods, they are watching him.

Thranduil wonders who would possibly have the audacity to spy on their king. It is a male without a doubt, the noises he is making too low to be a female. He knows he should stop, should find out who it is and have them sufficiently punished for their insolence, but oh, he needs this relief, needs to carry on. And he would be lying if he said that an audience didn't turn him on even more.

With a petulant smile, he thinks he might as well give them a good show.

His eyes roll back as he continues, the brief pause making the sensations even more potent. He opens his mouth, groans louder, speeds up the pace until he can feel how sore he will be the next morning, how much he will feel this while sitting at court tomorrow. Making sure his visitor has a good view, he spreads his legs even further, is elated to hear a small whine in a corner of the chamber. He echoes it, arching his back, thrashing his head. By the Valar, it's as if the mere presence of another's eyes accentuates every single touch on his body. He feels like he will pass out if he doesn't come soon.

At the next thrust, the top of the shaft drags against the sweet spot deep inside of him. He gasps, whole being stilling for a moment, overwhelmed by the feeling. Sticky wetness oozes onto his stomach and he pants desperately for breath. He finds the gland again and almost screams in euphoria. Every fibre of him clenches and shivers. "Oh gods," he moans. "Oh yes, oh Valar -"

He is not sure what he continues to babble as he repeatedly arouses that area, dragging the head of the shaft and the raised jewels all over it. He sobs, delirious with pleasure, fisting and pulling at the sheets with his free hand. Oh, he can barely concentrate anymore, his pace becoming erratic, rubbing himself against the bed, raising his hips and slamming them down again, just to ply that spot again and again and again...

He tries to last for as long as he can but soon, he is unable to hold it back anymore. With one last firm thrust inside of him, his entrance constricting and pounding lewdly and tightly, body coiling for the approaching fall, he opens his mouth and shouts repeatedly yes yes yes as he comes, soaking his abdomen and chest with thick spurts, even feeling some hitting his chin in the unravelling of so much tension. He squirms, trying to make the sensations endure, forcing them to continue until he can feel the room start to fade away around him.

He arrives back to reality with his heart pounding and body sinking in relaxation and pure satisfaction against the bed. For a moment, he doesn't know where he is. The feeling of the shaft still resting inside of him tells him all he needs to know again, and with a sigh, he pulls it out. Valar, he feels so blissful and serene...

Gently, he moves himself up to the headboard, reaching for a cloth to clean himself up. Laughing quietly, he looks around the room, trying to ascertain if his nightly visitor is still there, or he has got what he came for. "Enjoy yourself?" he asks teasingly, though his voice is broken and nothing near intimidating from his former cries. "Next time, you are free to join me."

He gets no response, as he knows he would. Smiling, he finishes with his washing and then slides back down under the sheets. As he drifts off into peaceful reverie, he feels nothing but vain pride and enjoyment at having had such an obviously rapt audience for his indulgence. However, undeniably, he cannot help wondering who those avid eyes and heavy breathing belonged to...

He makes an agreement with himself to try and find out the following day.

~~~

The next morning, the dwarves have vanished from the cages and the dungeons are uninhabited once again. A pursuit has determined that they escaped down the Forest River and out into Esgaroth, where Thranduil does not know what their fate is. He interrogates his guards mercilessly, trying to discover everything about the flight of their prisoners, and is assured again and again that they did everything to bring them back. There is nothing helpful beyond this that he can discern, however. Just hastily muttered apologies and vows to remedy their actions.

Although, as he thinks back on his frustrated conversations with his soldiers, there is one piece of information that catches his attention.

Apparently, according to one elf who got near to the leader of the dwarven company, Thorin Oakenshield displayed a deep flush over his cheeks, as if he had witnessed something that he most certainly shouldn't have done; but enjoyed more than he would care to admit.

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:
> 
> Valar - Powers of Arda 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! Feedback always appreciated :)


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